


White Chocolate

by Welfycat



Category: Glee
Genre: Community: angst_bingo, M/M, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-01-04
Updated: 2012-01-30
Packaged: 2017-10-28 21:27:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/312346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Welfycat/pseuds/Welfycat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam will do anything for his family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Angst Bingo; Prompt: Hookers (Wild Card)  
> Summary: Sam will do anything for his family.  
> Content Notes: An 18 year old high school student stripping and prostituting himself for money (non-explicit). I marked this as Underaged because Sam is still a high school student even if he is of legal age for consent.  
> Author Notes: Spoilers through 3.08 "Hold on to Sixteen".

The first time someone approaches him, Sam almost turns them down. He has about thirty bucks in "tips" in his backpack and that's not a bad haul for a weeknight. Then the guy pulls out two twenties from his pocket and places his hand on Sam's shoulder. Sam's not short. He's not small and dainty like most of the girls and even some of the guys in Glee club, but he feels short and small standing next to the man that called his fake name when he stepped into the alley.

Sam thinks about it for thirty seconds; thinks about how the bar won't give him his actual check for another week, thinks about his parents whispering in the night when they thought the kids were asleep about how long they were going to be able to stay in the motel now that dad's temporary construction work had ended. Sam nods, frantically trying both to not think about what he's about to do and to figure out how this works exactly. He's not dumb, he's seen enough movies and tv shows to know the basics, but this is still new territory for him.

The man uses the hand on his shoulder to guide him further back into the alley, where they won't easily be seen even if someone else comes out the door. Sam drops down to his knees, the gravel pressing against his skin hurts even through the fabric of his jeans, and he braces himself as the man's hands go to his belt. This was no different than the first time he walked out on stage as White Chocolate and slipped his shirt up and over his head, or so he tries to tell himself. There's a quiet voice that tells him that it's not the same, not really, but he pushes it away.

Afterwards he has forty more dollars, which along with his tips for the week should be almost enough to keep them in the same motel room for another week. The man is gone by the time Sam gets to his feet. Sam spits on the gravel three times before he decides the taste isn't going to go away. He brushes off his knees and puts the money with his tips in his backpack. Ten minutes later, when the shaking stops and he can stand without the support of the brick wall, Sam walks out of the alley and heads toward the bus stop.

*****

No one approaches him again until late on Saturday night, after Sam's double show is finished for the night. Sam accepts more quickly this time; he's done it before now, knows that he can do it, and he can still his parents still whisper at night from the rollaway bed he sleeps on. When it's over, Sam isn't shaking so much and he has a bottle of water in his backpack to rinse out his mouth. It doesn't make the taste go away but it helps take the edge off. Tips were good that night, he usually almost doubled his take on Fridays and Saturdays, and with the crumpled twenties he'd just received maybe they'd be able to have a real meal tomorrow.

It doesn't take long for his parents to notice that he's bringing home more money and Sam quickly tells them that he's been promoted to a supervisory position. His mom immediately worries that he's doing too much but Sam can see that she's already figuring out how they can best stretch the money to feed everyone and keep them in the motel. Sam shrugs and wants to say that he's never done that well in school anyway. Instead he focuses on the wood grain of the little table they gather around every night and tells her that it's not too much.

On Sunday, his day off, Sam takes Stevie and Stacy to McDonald's and gets them both Happy Meals and lets them run around in the play place for an hour. When Stacy asks if he isn't eating because there isn't enough money and offers him the rest of her french fries, Sam nearly cries. He tells her that they are her french fries and that he's not hungry. Stacy sits on his lap for a few minutes while she finishes eating and then takes off to play again, sliding on the dirty tile floor in socks that have holes in the toes.

When they get back to the motel, all of their noses and cheeks red from walking in the cold wind, his mom asks if he's finished his homework. Sam tells her that he has, even though he's not even sure what his homework is supposed to be. He'd tried to keep up at McKinley because being in the Glee club was partially dependent on his grades and the other club members helped him out sometimes. Mercedes would read the instructions to things and rewrite the math problems so that he could separate out the numbers more easily and Kurt would drag both him and Finn into working on the science homework together. In Kentucky, where there was nothing to worry about but his family, it wasn't worth the effort.

*****

Word gets around with the regular cliental of the bar that White Chocolate isn't adverse to being approached after the show, Sam starts to get a small following. After two months he has five guys that are usuals and another dozen or so who he's seen at least once before. Sam promises himself that it's just this, that it's just what happens in the back alley and that's all that will ever happen. It's not like it's real sex, he wouldn't do that, and Sam has learned not to listen to what the men looming above him are saying when he's down on his knees.

He's bringing in enough now that between that and the temp agency his mom gets occasional work from that they aren't so worried about losing their room in the motel and they're eating more regularly. Sam keeps back some of the money because he knows that he's making more than a supervisor at Dairy Queen would make, saves some in case of dire emergencies and uses the rest to get little needed things for Stevie and Stacy. He gets Stacy a new package of socks, socks that are pink and purple and teal because little girls should have pretty socks, and he gets Stevie a backpack that doesn't look like a donation item because he's at the age where that matters.

Sometimes he thinks his dad knows. Not about the men, but about the stripping, because there's no way his parents could ever guess about the men. One day, when Sam is leaving for work, his dad puts his hand on Sam's arm. It takes everything Sam has to remember to not pull away from his dad's touch; Sam's slowly starting to feel sick every time a man touches his bare skin or shoulders. His dad looks him in the eyes and Sam carefully keeps his game steady while his dad tells him to please be careful and not to do anything dangerous. Sam readily agrees, wondering if his dad thinks he's joined a gang or something, and leaves the hotel before anything more can be said. He knows what he's doing is at least a little bit dangerous, in more ways than one, but he figures he's got things under control. He's saving his family even if they'll never know how. If Sam prayed he would pray that they never ever found out.

His mom watches him sometimes; whenever there is a spare minute he feels her eyes on him. Sam always smiles, trying to promise with just a look that he's keeping everything together for her and dad as long as they need him. She smiles back, but it's just a reflection of the strained fake smile that Sam had offered her.

*****

The decision to go back to Ohio and McKinley is a tough one. He wants to go back to singing and to his friends and to having a normal life. His dad has a job, not a great job and probably not permanent, but his parents have been talking about trying to find an apartment and get out of the motel. There's no more whispering in the night.

Sam has seen the endless scraps of paper that his parents scribble out, trying to make the money cover everything that their family needs. He's looked at them but if he can't make sense of math problems printed in a textbook than he doesn't have a chance at making out endless handwritten columns. His mom tells him to go; she more than any of them sees how much he misses music. Sam promises to get a job and send any money that he can. He can tell she wants to tell him not to worry about it, but can't bring herself to say it.

McKinley is okay, though not quite as fantastic as he's been dreaming about. His life is back to normal, except it isn't because Sam is the one who has changed. He doesn't worry about Rachel and Finn telling about where they saw him, even though they are both blabbermouths. If anything, they were more embarrassed than he'd been when they'd seen him in the bar. Sam almost wants to tell him they should be glad they didn't see him on his knees with his head tipped back and his big mouth wide open.

Finding a crappy part time job in Limo, Ohio is just like finding a crappy part time job in Kentucky. He doesn't feel safe enough to find another bar to strip in, not when it would be easy for anyone who went to McKinley to sneak in with a fake id. But Sam has other skills now and he knows who to look for and how to lead the way into dark secluded place with just a smile and a tilt of his head. It's a rough start and Sam spends days roaming the town in order to find just the right time and place for what he needs to do. At last, late on a Friday night, Sam catches the eye of a tall man in his late 30s and smiles when he sees the man's eyes trace the line of his body.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam shakes head head for the third time in as many minutes; the rain drops that had been rolling off the hood of his jacket are starting to slip down and land on his skin instead. He should go inside, go back to Finn and Kurt's house - which is where he's been living for the last month - but it's Saturday and if he doesn't net someone tonight he's not going to be able to send much of anything back to his mom and dad this week.

Sam pays a small amount in rent to Kurt's dad twice a month, enough that he doesn't feel guilty about their grocery bill, and the rest he sends home to his parents. Finn and everyone else thinks he has a job as a courier for a law firm downtown, or for what passes for downtown in Lima. He wouldn't have even thought of it except for his older cousin in La Crosse was working as a courier one summer when they went to visit the rest of the family. It helps that it doesn't interest anyone; no one wants to come visit him at work, or even asks which firm, and there isn't the prospect of reduced cost pizza or other food that often comes with minimum wage jobs.

It's getting dark, Sam has been outside for almost two hours now and has changed locations three times. He's careful to stay out of sight of the entrance of the bars, which reduces his potential cliental but it's necessary, and he's learned when to hold eye contact with someone to indicate his willingness. Since the rain started forty five minutes ago everyone who has gone in or out of the bar has bowed their head down and focused singularly on getting inside where it's dry.

His jacket is almost completely soaked through now, the slick fabric meant to stay dry during a light sprinkle but not under an extended downpour, and he can feel his hair starting to stick to the sides of his face. About to give up for the evening and seriously considering finding some type of bar work, even if it was stupidly risky to do so in Lima, Sam pushes himself away from the splintering wooden slats that cover the outer wall of the bar. He nearly trips when the sudden presence of a man startles him, the man's hands on his upper arms the only thing that keeps him on his feet.

"I think I've seen you around here before, but it's hard to tell in this," the man says. He doesn't have an umbrella with him but Sam can see that he's in a suit under the long overcoat that's slowly darkening with water.

Usually by now, if it's someone who is interested in him, there's the offer of money or a rough hand on his shoulder guiding him to a discreet alley. Sam doesn't know what to do; if the guy is a cop he doesn't want to proposition him, if he's not a cop or a john he doesn't know what he wants.

"There's a diner across the street. Why don't we go get dry?" the man suggests, using one of his hands to point at the small diner that's on the opposite corner. There's a small neon light in the door with a letter burned out that marks the shop as _OPE_ and there are a few cars parked out front. San wonders if one of those cars belongs to the man; he didn't even see where he'd come from.

"Okay?" Sam kinda agrees, because the man now has a hand on his shoulder and he's familiar enough with that. They walk across the street, avoiding the potholes where water has pooled during the on and off rain that has characterized the past few days. Sam pushes back his hood when they get through the front door and isn't pleased to realize that the water has soaked all the way through his sweatshirt in some places as well.

"Go get us a table, I'll get us drinks," the man says as he unbuttons his overcoat.

Sam doesn't know a lot about suits, but from the dark slacks, fitted jacket, and slick shoes, he can tell that this is a nice suit. There are only two other occupied tables in the diner and Sam finds one toward the back that is mostly out of sight. If the man wants to discuss 'business' Sam doesn't want to chance anyone overhearing them.

He takes off his jacket and places it over the back of one of the chairs but he's still standing by the table in his damp sweatshirt when the man comes back with two mugs in his hands. The man looks him up and down, a studious yet quick examination that is both similar and different than the way people looked at him in the bar when he was dancing and tearing off his shirt. Sam recognizes lust and desire right away but there's something more there that he can't place. It unnerves him a little bit, enough that he briefly considers grabbing his jacket and going back out into the rain, but he stays.

"You must be freezing. There's a heating vent blowing right here, do you have something under your sweatshirt so you can take that off?" The man asks as he places the mugs on the table.

Sam places the uncertainty that had been nagging at him; that was like something his mom or Mrs. Hudson would say. He pulls his sweatshirt over his head, feeling his cotton tee-shirt pull out from where it had been tucked into his jeans. His hair is ruffled now and he uses his hands to try and flatten it a little bit, stopping when the man smiles.

"That looks better," the man says as he sits, looking up at Sam expectantly.

Sam sits across from him and looks down at the mug in front of him. It's not coffee like he'd been expecting, but instead it's hot chocolate with a dollop of whipped cream on top.

"What's your name?" the man asks, cradling his own mug in his hands but never taking his gaze away from Sam.

"Sam," he replies as soon as he realizes that using his stage name wouldn't work. He probably should have come up with a fake name but that thought comes a moment too late.

"I'm Erik," he says, pausing to take a careful sip. "Are you from around here, Sam?"

Sam's more on guard now; he's not used to people talking to him, almost anyone really, and certainly not guys he's picking up to pay him money. "Kinda," he settles on, because that's the truth.

"I travel for business," Erik replies easily. "I was in Lima two weeks ago and I believe I saw you near Dale's Brewery. I wasn't sure at first, but now that I've had a better look at you, I'm certain it was you. It was a Friday, perhaps you remember?"

It takes Sam a minute, he's grown accustomed to living a moment at a time - the past barely exists and the future comes whether he thinks about it or not - but he manages to dredge up that Friday evening after glee club practice had let out. He doesn't remember seeing Erik, not that he would have noticed him if he hadn't approached him, but he does remember a man that night with a beard who had pulled on his hair so hard it felt like it was coming out. "I was there," Sam says. It's a little uncomfortable how intently Erik is watching him and Sam keeps his own eyes on where his finger is tracing the rim of his mug. While the air inside the diner is fairly warm he can feel that he's broken out in goosebumps all along his bare arms.

"You don't like chocolate?" Erik asks, one of his hands freeing to allow his long fingers to gesture in the direction of the mug in front of Sam.

Sam picks up the mug and lifts it cautiously to his lips. The hot chocolate is good, rich and smooth, and he drinks more deeply after a his first sip. "It's good. Thank you," he says, wishing he didn't feel so far out of his depth. He takes a minute, with his mouth hidden by the mug, to get a good look at the man. Erik is tall, broad in his shoulders but tapered at his waist, and his hair is carefully groomed and fashionably cut. His entire demeanor shouts wealth, a man that knows what he wants and how to get it. It's a far cry from the men in jeans and button-up shirts who slipped into the alleys with him.

"I'm glad you like it." Erik sets down his cup, his attention moving to check the area around them carefully before returning to Sam. "I travel to Lima fairly often. Three times a month, sometimes more. I stay for a day or two, business during the day, but in the evenings I'm left to my own devices. I wonder if you might be interested in spending some time with me on the evenings that I'm in town."

Sam can feel his eyes widening as he sets down the mug, the hot chocolate sloshing over the rim. "I don't, I'm not," he stammers as he tries to find the words for what he means. 'Spending time' with Erik somehow sounds a lot worse than walking down an alley does.

Erik smiles, his amusement feeding Sam's embarrassment. "It's alright. Just to talk for now. We could get to know each other and have a few meals. There's no rush."

"Talk?" Sam asks, feeling the band of tightness around his chest relax a little. He might be okay, unless 'talk' meant something else.

"Just like right now," Erik says with an artful shrug. "The lack of company, Sam, that's what's wrong with the world today. We ask questions but we don't wait to hear the answers. We walk in the world but we don't see what's around us."

Sam stares. Erik is sounding more like his English teacher, on the rare days that Sam pays attention enough to hear what she says, and less like someone who wants something from him.

Erik laughs again, a soft and nearly musical sound. "What I'm looking for, Sam, is some company. What that entails may change over time, but for now, just another person and their voice. That's all. I promise you that you'll be well compensated for your time."

"You're going to pay me to talk to you?" Sam asks, not really sure if he's got this right. "To talk to you while you...?" he trails off and makes a quick motion with his right hand.

"Just to have a conversation with," Erik says, shaking his head even though he's smiling like Sam has said something very amusing. "I'll be back in Lima on Wednesday. If you decide that you'd like to talk with me again, I'll be at the coffee shop on Spring Lane between seven and eight in the evening. Do you know the place?"

Sam nods, he's passed the place on the way to the pub that's three streets down.

Erik stands and picks up his overcoat, draping it over one of his arms. "I hope very much that I'll see you then. Good evening, Sam." He walks away, his stride calm and confident like they hadn't been just sitting there talking about whatever they'd been talking about - Sam still wasn't entirely sure he understood what Erik wanted.

It isn't until the door closes that Sam looks back at the table and discovers a fifty dollar bill in front of his half empty mug. He picks it up and decides that it feels real enough, not that he has any experience in detecting forgeries beyond using the marker that the pizza place he'd delivered for had them use on all bills that were twenty dollars or larger. He pockets the money and drinks the rest of the hot chocolate, even though it's not really hot anymore, because it's good and he's not going to let it go to waste.

The rain has stopped by the time Sam leaves the diner and the walk back to the Hudson-Hummel household only takes him twenty minutes with a five minute bus ride covering most of the ground. The money feels like it's burning a hole in his pocket, he probably would have made less if he'd swallowed some guy down outside the bar, but Sam isn't really sure what to do about it. Giving it back would be awkward, but it's not like he _earned_ it either. He has five days to decide what he's going to do about Erik, but at least now he can send a somewhat descent amount back to his family. It's not what he was making in Kentucky, but it's something.

*****

Sam dresses up a little bit on Wednesday because he knows that between school and glee club rehearsals he won't have time to go back to the house to change if he decides to go meet Erik. He's been thinking about it all week, enough that Kurt notices and asks him if he misses his family. Sam answers truthfully; he does, more than he'd expected. Kurt sits him down with a musical movie marathon on Sunday, which gives Sam plenty of time to think between the Streisand numbers.

Mercedes notices as soon as she seems him in their computer class. She comes over and tugs on his gray slacks where they're a little too big at his hips and asks what girl he's trying to impress now. Fortunately Sam doesn't have to come up with an answer right then because the bell rings and the teacher shouts for all of them to settle down and stop making noise. Sam spends the class period wondering if he's dressing up because he wants to impress Erik. He doesn't think so, he's doing it because he wants Erik to give him money. By the end of the class he's decided it's like his dad dressing up in a suit for a job interview; his dad doesn't really want to impress whoever's hiring him, he just wants the job.

Thinking of it as a job, no different than going for that first awful interview at the bar, made it a little bit easier to seriously consider going. He'd gone into that bar to sing after reading in the newspaper that they were looking for afternoon and evening entertainment. The manager had taken one look at him, the look Sam became far more familiar with a few weeks later, and had told him he had a better job for him than singing and waiting tables. The command to take off his shirt had come as a shock and Sam still wasn't sure what had possessed him. His hands had found the hem of his tee-shirt and he'd pulled his head, the thin fabric clinging briefly to his face and hair with a shock of static. The first few nights, on the side of the stage where no one would notice if he messed up, he'd thought of glee club and how scary the first time he'd walked on stage with them had been. After the first initial rush of nerves he'd done everything he could to _not_ think of the glee club when he was on stage; it wasn't the same at all.

"Sam, are you with us?" Mr. Schue asks when Sam misses his entrance with the rest of the guys and Finn nearly knocks him over with what could loosely be called 'dancing'.

"Sorry," Sam apologizes. He brushes his hair away from where it's starting to drift into his eyes and moves back to his first mark. Finn is watching him and from the front of the room Rachel turns back with her long hair tumbling over her shoulders. Sam doesn't look at either of them, he hasn't really been able to meet either of their eyes since Kentucky.

Mr. Schue claps his hands twice and everyone gets ready to start again. "From the top," he shouts. A moment later the piano chords reverberate through the room and Rachel steps forward with Santana and Mercedes a few steps behind her.

Sam forces his attention to remain on the song, reminding himself that this was why he'd come back to Lima and that if it wasn't for the glee club he'd be back in that bar in Kentucky. The music finally captures the rest of his thoughts and he lets the rhythm and the harmony wash everything away until it's all song and movement. This is why he came back and why he stays. Apart from his family, the music is all he has.

*****

Three hours later Sam is standing on the corner of Spring Lane, his backpack over one shoulder and his hands pushed down into his pockets. It's five minutes past seven and this is the last chance he has to walk away and forget the whole thing. The sky is dark and cloudy again though the rain has held off. The air still feels chilled and damp against his face and Sam adjusts the front of his hair again. He'd brushed it in the bathroom at school after practice but he thought that the wind had probably undone the careful work he'd done to curl the longer ends away from his eyes.

In the near darkness he probably looks like a beacon under the lamplight, his pale skin and bright blond hair sharp in comparison to the handfuls of people who passed by with the hoods of their jackets up and umbrellas preemptively open. Sam has a passing thought about vampires, hunting their prey in the night and walking with unearthly beauty like in the horror movies he and Finn and some of the guys had watched last year. The idea fades quickly enough; Sam isn't the vampire here, not even the sparkly, douchey vampire that he'd heard way too much about.

Sam pulls his phone from the pockets of his slacks, a little uncomfortable without his jeans and their familiar pockets and holes, and checks the time again. It's ten minutes past seven now. If he's actually going to do this, he should go inside. Reminding himself that this isn't the worst thing he's done, not by a long shot, Sam crosses the street and steps inside Heartland Coffee & Bakery. It's a little bit overdone, a fake rustic charm that shouldn't appeal to anyone who actually lives in Lima, and Sam quickly looks around to make sure there isn't anyone there from the high school on a date or something. They're far enough from McKinley that no one should be there and Sam's relieved when he only spots groups of chatting college students and a handful of people in suits with briefcases and cellphones.

There's a brief moment when he wants to turn back and walk out the door, pretend he'd never even considered whatever it is he was about to do, but then he sees Erik stand up at the edge of the room and walk in his direction. He'd missed him when he'd looked over the shop; Erik, with his suit and open newspaper, had just looked like another businessman.

Erik smiles, his features softening and small crinkles appearing at the edges of his gray eyes, and he stops about two feet away. He immediately reaches for Sam, his hand resting just below the crook of Sam's elbow. "I got a table for us, have you eaten dinner?"

Sam shakes his head and lets Erik walk him back to the table. Erik folds the paper and places it on another table. There's no one sitting near them and Erik takes the chair against the wall. Sam sits down across from him and drops his backpack to the ground. "Why did you leave so much money last time?" he asks, the words out before he can stop them. He's already sent the money on to his parents so it's not like he can give it back, but the idea that this guy just gave him money for sitting with him in a diner makes less and less sense to him the more he's thought about it.

"Like I've told you, I'm looking for companionship. Someone to talk to, someone who will talk to me. You filled that need and I paid you for doing so. Nothing wrong with that," Erik says, his smile a little tighter at the edges now.

"But I didn't do anything," Sam says, shaking his head and then pushing his hair aside again.

Erik sighs deeply. "You don't understand; you're young and the world is still filled with endless possibilities. Adventure awaits at every turn and it seems like you'll never long for someone to fill the hours with. That will change."

Sam stares. He has no idea what to say when people start talking like this. It's like when his mom cries or his dad sits silently with his head in his hands and there's nothing Sam can do to make it better.

Erik's expression clears and he eases back in his chair. "I should make myself clearer. When I told you I was seeking company, that wasn't a lie. There are many shades of companionship and we don't have to tackle them all at once. For now, this would be the arrangment: we meet on evenings when I'm in Lima. We talk, maybe go to a restaurant or on a walk if the weather is nice. I have a place that's not too far from here, a home away from home if you will, and on nights when going out doesn't appeal to us we can stay in. When you're more comfortable with me, of course. I'll compensate you well for your time and we'll keep our transactions quiet."

Sam thinks hard, trying to see where this is going to all go wrong. He's not dumb, not as dumb as people thinks he is, and he's seen CSI and those other shows where people turn up dead because they hung out with bad guys. He doesn't want to end up dead in the shower of some hotel room and have his mom crying as she identifies his body. "You really just want to talk? And you're going to pay me? Like, really?" Sam asks again.

"Really," Erik says, his tone only slightly patronizing. "Does that sound reasonable to you?"

"Okay," Sam says. It's just like taking off his shirt in the bar in Kentucky, and saying yes to the first guy in the alley, and agreeing to come back to Lima with Finn and Rachel. He's not thinking of all the ways it could go wrong, all of the bad that would be waiting if he takes just one misstep, he's just thinking of the one burning bright spotlight illuminating what could happen if everything goes right.

Erik smiles and it changes his whole face again. "Good. Very good. You said you didn't have dinner. This bakery does the best turkey sandwiches. I will go order for us and then you can tell me about your day." He stands and walks over to the counter, turning his smile on the young woman behind the counter.

Sam watches from the table, his stomach is churning and not because he hasn't had dinner yet. When Erik comes back, a plate in each hand, Sam decides that there are two things he wants to keep to himself; his family and glee club. With everything else it doesn't matter if this guy knows about, but his music and his family don't belong here when he's doing this.

An hour and a half later he's catching the bus back to the house, another fifty in his pocket and a cautious hope that this might actually work out.


End file.
